


Everything

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Dark Knight [15]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, see the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9426224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo wants something... dark.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Content warning:** Consensual torture/humiliation/punishment/sadism/asphyxiation/sensory deprivation/gagging/ **suicidal ideation** etc. _This is not fluffy_. This **is** consensual, and relatively SSC/RACK.

Poe isn’t so sure about this, but Kylo’s asked, and Kylo gets most things he asks for. Poe insisted on some cooling down before they leapt into it, just in case Kylo changed his mind, and to give them both time to accommodate the request. 

Break me. Like it was something you did to bread. Break me.

They’ve done a lot of things, over the years. From the basics of handcuffs and blindfolds, up to scratching, pinching, biting. A crop (which Kylo liked almost too much, to the point of marking), clamps, ropes, ice… 

Poe’s enjoyed it all, to his own surprise. He’d been aware that the basics of tying someone down was enjoyable, but he’d never thought he’d get off so hard on a breathy _Yes, Sir_ , or the title **Master**. He never thought the sight of a scratched and bruised and bitten rump would make him so hard he thought he’d faint. 

But breaking…

Kylo’s come close to break _down_ several times, in and out of bed. Poe’s always stopped when he got too emotional, and cuddled the life out of him. Kylo doesn’t like to say _stop_ (or even the other word, the ‘STOP RIGHT NOW’ word), which Poe had a lot of difficulty with, at first. But once he realised he could tell Kylo’s responses well enough to ease off if he was getting too close, he’d relaxed a lot.

This time, though, Kylo doesn’t want him to stop. Poe isn’t sure why he feels the need for it, but he does. It’s been there in the corner of his eyes and the downturn of his lips, pushed under his tongue like an unwanted pill. 

When _should_ he stop, if not when he senses distress? How does he know he’s done enough? How does he know he’s gotten him there? Is it even _morally right_ to push someone that far, even if they consented in advance? What if he - for the first time - uses his safeword? Kylo’s told him not to stop, but things _change_. And there’s only so much emotional distress the man is prepared to accept as enjoyable. 

_This isn’t about enjoyment_.

He has to tell himself that. It’s not the same as a bit of pain to heighten arousal, or fire off neurons. It’s… something deeper, something psychological and necessary. It’s like breaking a bone that’s set wrong, and doing it surgically. Unmaking poor joins, and holding things in the right position so you can walk properly again.

This isn’t about sex. It isn’t even about pain. 

Not everyone needs this, but Kylo does, and Poe can give it to him, if he’s only strong enough. 

_Break me_.

He starts by ordering Kylo to strip. Sits, on the couch, fully clothed and watching. Sometimes Kylo will obey immediately, sometimes he will do so with devilment and mischief, ‘misunderstanding’ or being overly-pedantic, and sometimes he will outright refuse and need to be shown who is boss.

The first order and response is normally a good indicator of how the rest of the night will go. Kylo considers disobeying, but he’s asked for this, and he’s clearly saving his resistance for later. He strips his clothes neatly, and puts them to one side. 

Well, one hurdle down. Poe twirls a finger, indicating Kylo should do the same. He watches the taller man’s frame, seeing the slight hunch of his shoulders, the tension in his lower back and calves. Kylo’s on edge, like a predator ready to leap, or maybe he’s prey? Either way, his body is wired for the moment, and Poe understands. 

He stands, grabs his hair, and shoves until the man falls onto his hands and knees, shaking all the way down. Poe straddles his hips, and forces a ball gag into his mouth, then covers his head in a pillow case. He snaps a collar around his neck, trapping it in place, and then rises, kicking Kylo’s hands away so he falls and lands on his chin. 

Kylo takes pain. He’s not sure how good that is, but at least it’s meant he survived this long. Poe slips his belt from his pants, and lays waste to Kylo’s ass. (Not pleasure. _Healing_. He has to remind himself as he watches the red welts rise under the smacks, and hears the broken-tongued sobs.

Poe doesn’t stop until his arm aches, and then he laces the belt across Kylo’s throat. Back over his hips, tugging his head back, lightly choking him. He feels weirdly distant from himself as he does it, because this isn’t something he wants for himself. He’s doing this for _Kylo_. He’s not doing it because _he_ wants Kylo this way, and that’s the only way he can make himself follow through with it.

“Fight me,” Poe insists.  


Kylo makes a choked noise, and tries to shake his head.

“You want to. That’s why you asked for this, isn’t it?”  


Another no.

“You wanted to know you aren’t in control. You wanted to know I was.”  


He pulls tighter, tighter, listening for the gasping, rattling noises in Kylo’s throat. Waiting until it’s almost too late, and then fingers start to claw at his hands. Poe pulls tighter, then lets go.

“That’s all? Pathetic. You’re pathetic. You wouldn’t care if I beat you to death, would you?”  


Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because the howl of dismay that cuts the air is anything but release. Does Kylo want that, on some level? Or would he simply not resist if it came to it? Does he want this because it’s the closest thing to death he can find? 

Angry, Poe whacks him again. How dare he? How dare he value his life so little? How dare he throw his existence away like this? How dare he drag Poe into this death-cult? He slices the belt over a shoulder, and splits the skin.

Kylo doesn’t fight. He doesn’t resist. He does nothing but cry, and lie down, and take every blow.

(How will Poe know? How will he know it’s too much? How will he know when to stop? Is there even a point to this, or is Kylo asking for the thrill of something Poe cannot - will not - ever truly give him?)

“You’d destroy everyone who loves you,” Poe snaps, his emotion finally coming out. “You’d leave us all behind, wondering what we did wrong. What we didn’t do enough for you. Why you couldn’t ask us to help you. You’d leave us knowing we failed you, and deprive us of your love.”  


Kylo’s hands go up into his hair, and he tugs his head into his chest, curling into a ball of misery.

“You’d _leave_ us. Again! You’d run away from the world because it’s too much for you, but you wouldn’t care how we felt?”  


_I would. That’s why I don’t_.

The thought intrudes, and Poe laughs. “So you guilt-trip us for keeping you alive.”

Silence, and Poe drops to kneel over him, pressing his clothes to the bleeding snarl over one shoulder. Arm around his throat, bending his head back.

“I love you, Kylo. You’re _loved_  so much. I would do _anything_ to keep you safe, to make your pain go away.”  


Kylo can’t cope, and he starts to buck, trying to thrash Poe off. Fighting, at last, but Poe won’t let him win. 

“I _love_ you. I **love** you. You’re smart, and thoughtful, and kind, and generous, and funny, and beautiful, and you deserve _so, so much more_ than any of this.”  


_No_.

“ **YES** ,” Poe insists, and pulls the collar off, ripping the hood and gag from him.   


Kylo’s face is a splodgy, hot-red mess. He’s crying constantly, dribble around his mouth and sorrow around his eyes. 

“I love you,” Poe says, forcing his head around, even if his eyes won’t meet him. “I love you. You’re _safe_. You’re **loved**. We know you, Kylo, and we love every bit of you.”  


_No no no no can’t–_

“You can’t tell me not to feel how I feel,” Poe insists. “I love you. All of you. Even this… even this. So stay with me, babe. I know it hurts. I know it hurts more than you think you can bear, but you can. You can. And you don’t need to hide how you feel from me. It’s _okay_.”  


_I want– wanted–_

Poe understands, now. He understands what Kylo was too afraid to tell anyone.

He wanted to die, and he knows he ‘shouldn’t’. 

“Let me help you,” Poe demands, stroking the tears away. “Let me help you. You don’t need to hide anything from me. Not anything unless you want to. I love you, all of you, and even if I don’t understand, I’ll still help you however I can.”  


This isn’t about good feelings, it’s about all of them. It’s about the ones that aren’t nice, but still real. He turns Kylo into his arms, and holds him as the sobs howl through him.

“Nothing is too much,” Poe insists. “You don’t need to hide. Not from me.”   


It’s not going to be easy to help him, and Poe thinks maybe he might need some help of his own, but he’ll do it. He loves him.


End file.
